One Thousand Paper Cranes
by Ryeloza
Summary: What if the road to getting together wasn't so easy?  An AU story about how Tom and Lynette started their relationship.
1. Nothing at the Bottom of the Bottle

**Disclaimer: **Holy smokes! _Desperate Housewives _still isn't mine!

**Story Summary: **What if the road to getting together wasn't so easy? An AU story about how Tom and Lynette started their relationship.

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part One: There's Nothing at the Bottom of the Bottle**

Lynette felt Tom's presence before she actually heard him; the instant his eyes fell on her her entire body tingled and her heart sped up. It was pathetic, really, and she refused to let him see how he affected her. She ran a finger around the rim of her glass and pretended to be oblivious until he actually approached her, sidling up to the bar and pretending he was suave: "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Banter. What fun.

"Girls like me thrive in places like this."

He shook his head. "I don't believe that."

"You don't know me."

"Can we change that?"

Lynette chortled before throwing back what remained of the drink in front of her. Immediately she ordered another. "Can we drop the pretense?" she asked, playing with the ring of condensation that marked where her glass had been. "I'm not in the mood for games tonight."

Ignoring her plea completely, Tom's fingers skated across her back as he took the seat next to her. It was the worst game of all: the flirtation of physical contact. Whenever he touched her a thrill went down her spine. She was beginning to wonder if she got off on the idea of toying with someone she couldn't have. It was a sickness, but apparently he shared the affliction.

"I'll have what she's having," he said as the bartender handed her a new drink. Lynette rolled her eyes and pretended she didn't notice how he was turned just far enough that his knee brushed her thigh. "Okay, seriously," he said—as if he was ever serious about their non-affair. "What are you doing here? I thought you had a date or something."

"Or something canceled." She took another drink and smacked her lips against the harsh taste of the scotch. "Where's your old lady tonight?"

"I don't know."

Lynette smirked. "Trouble in paradise?" She cringed at the note of pleasure in her voice; how far gone from reality was she that she bought this crock of shit? He was flirting on the edge of a line he'd never cross and she was a glutton for punishment. Not that it mattered.

"Did he really cancel or are you just trying to cheer me up?" he asked, bypassing her inquiry. To her great annoyance, he reached out to brush a finger along the outline of her ear. Worse, she didn't even bother to pretend it was inappropriate.

"It was a tentative thing. He was on call tonight. He's a doctor."

"Of course he is."

She shrugged. "It's not going to work out."

"You're too good for him."

"No," she admitted slowly, boldly turning her gaze his way. "It's just that I fell for someone else."

Something flashed in Tom's eyes; it was there and gone so quickly that she'd never know what it was. He let out a low sigh and downed his entire drink. "Fuck," he hissed, his face contorting at the fiery liquid he'd just used to lambast his throat. She almost smiled, but then he said, "Annabel's pregnant."

"Oh." She turned her head; stared at her drink. It was almost shocking how much she didn't feel anything at the announcement. Like he had told he was going to buy a cantaloupe or wear sneakers tomorrow and there was nothing to say but _Oh, that's nice_. It wasn't like they were together. They weren't even friends.

"She wants to move back to Chicago to be closer to her family."

"You're going to go."

"Yeah."

She nodded, glad that he didn't hesitate. It would have been so much worse if he lied or laid it on her. Guys had done it in the past—_Oh baby, I don't know what I want. Just tell me to stay and I'll do it. She means nothing_. At least she hadn't fallen head over heels for a coward.

"I don't love her," he said.

"Does that matter?"

"I don't know." He laid his hand over hers and let his thumb run over her wrist. It made her wistful for the intimacy they weren't ever going to have. Apparently he was thinking along the same lines because a moment later he leaned into her personal space, close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek as he whispered, "I want you."

She wanted to say that he'd missed his chance, but the truth was that they'd been doomed from the start. They were both so stupid. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned to look at him, glad that her eyes were still dry. It would be so much worse if he saw her break.

He was staring at her so hard that it took her breath away and despite her best intentions her eyes flickered down to his lips. It was just an instant, but that was all it took. Without pause he brought a hand up to caress her cheek and then leaned in and kissed her. It was just a meeting—a brief, gentle, slow, soft moment where his lips were against hers—but any self-control she had left disappeared completely. Suddenly he didn't have a pregnant girlfriend; he wasn't leaving; they were in a world where they could be together—just as long as the kiss lasted.

It was an indulgence that never could have gone on long enough to satisfy her; a lifetime of what could have been wrapped up in one sweet kiss. Too soon, Tom released her, pausing to kiss her cheek before he pulled away.

She brushed her hair behind her ear and twisted away from him. The intensity of the moment was too much. "I guess this is goodbye," she said softly. And then, feeling brave in this last meeting, added, "You know I love you, right?"

It didn't matter. He was already gone.


	2. Infinity Found in the Endless Sea

**Disclaimer: **Oh it's not mine.

**A/n: **Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm having a really good time writing this one. I'd love to hear what you think, so please review.

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Two: Infinity Found in the Endless Sea**

The moment was like something out of a nightmare.

Lynette had made an early escape from the reception—despite Liz being one of her best friends and despite being a bridesmaid, it had been something she had been planning to do all along—but she didn't slip out unnoticed. As she stood jabbing the button for the elevator again and again, Tom glided toward her, as much like an apparition as he'd appeared earlier and no more welcome. She'd first spotted him in the back of the church today, casually leaning against the wall and tracking her every movement with his eyes and she'd known then that she was hopelessly trapped. All night he'd been laying in wait, ready to jump at his chance to get her alone, and now she'd provided him the perfect opportunity.

Maybe she'd done it on purpose. Maybe. But that didn't make it any less horrific. Here she was up to her elbows in tulle and pink taffeta, face to face with a man she hadn't seen in almost four years, and her heart still sped up like she was some lovesick adolescent. It was ridiculous. She stabbed the button again with her finger, punctuating her displeasure with a terse, "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited."

She'd figured as much. He and George had been friends long before she'd ever known any of them, but who cared? It wasn't any reason to drop everything and come running a thousand miles. "You didn't have to come."

"I wanted to see you."

Lynette rolled her eyes. "Don't say that."

"Why? It's true."

The elevator doors finally parted, one patron squeezing his way between them and giving Lynette an opportunity to get into the elevator ahead of Tom. Unfortunately it wasn't enough time for her to prod the close doors button and Tom stepped on after her. Everything about him screamed casual—from the way he leaned against the wall to keep ample space between them, his hands tucked into his pockets, to the innocent smirk on his face—but Lynette knew better than to fall for the ruse. He was up to something and she didn't particularly want to know what.

"Nice dress," he remarked.

"Nice wedding ring," she said pointedly. He could hide his hands all he wanted; the flash of gold hadn't escaped her sight. He hadn't been the only one keeping tabs tonight.

Tom shrugged. "How have you been?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"What is it you think I'm doing?"

_Acting like no time has passed…Acting like you're not married…Existing…_

"You're…_here_!" She scowled at her own incompetency and added, "It's been four years."

"Three years and nine months. And I still think about you all the time."

Lynette shook her head. She imagined the truth was more akin to he was unhappy at home, had received an invitation to a wedding he knew she'd attend and had come running to someone he'd hoped was an easy lay. The pathetic part was that she was still attracted to him despite knowing all of that. But there was no chance in hell that she was going to let him know that. "You're ridiculous. And I'm not falling for this load of crap."

To her surprise, Tom dropped any pretense of airiness by very suddenly and almost ferociously stepping across the elevator toward her. Taken aback, Lynette backed into the wall, but it only served to give Tom the opportunity to slam his hands on either side of her and box her in. "You think I flew a thousand miles just to come to the wedding of some people I used to work with? I came to see you."

"So?"

"So I want that to mean something!"

"It doesn't mean anything. You're married. You have a kid."

"My wife has been cheating on me for months now."

"So this is revenge?" she asked. The idea made her slightly nauseous and she realized just how excited she'd been by the prospect that he actually still cared about her. Still. She didn't even know if he'd ever cared to begin with. What had they shared beyond a teasing flirtation and one drunken kiss?

Tom stepped closer to her; their bodies were only a breath away from touching. "If I wanted revenge," he said, dipping his head to press his lips against her temple, "I would have found some stupid floozy at home and fucked her without a second thought. This is about finally getting what I've always wanted."

"I'm not some consolation prize."

"No. You're not."

Lynette shut her eyes and allowed herself time to revel in the moment. Between the scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath and the heat of his body so close to hers she felt intoxicated and she so badly wanted to give in. But as Tom moved to gently tug her earlobe between his teeth, she finally found the willpower to put her hands on his chest and push him away. "I can't do this," she said quietly.

"Yes you can. We're doing exactly what we should have done years ago."

"No." She shook her head to emphasize the point, ignoring just how plainly he was undressing her with his eyes. "I'm seeing someone."

Tom ran his fingertips up and down her arm. "So?"

"So I can't."

"Do you love him?"

"No. But that doesn't matter."

"That's all that matters. I've spent four years with a woman that I can't stand and for what?"

"You have a child together."

"You sound like my mother." He moved his hand to her neck, stroking his thumb gently up and down, and closed the remaining space between them so the lower halves of their bodies were flush together. Slowly he bent down and began to kiss her jawline. "Don't ever, ever sound like my mother."

Blessedly the elevator groaned to a stop and the doors opened; the distraction gave Lynette enough time to squirm out of Tom's embrace and step onto her floor. Without missing a beat, he followed her, but he'd lost his affected casualness. He was on the hunt now and she was desperately close to becoming his prey.

"Why are you fighting me so hard on this?" he murmured. "I know you want this too. I heard you that night at the bar. I heard you say that you loved me."

"That was four years ago."

"I don't care!"

She turned, hissing for him to be quiet, but it gave him a chance to grasp her elbow and keep her in place. "Tell me you don't love me. Tell me that and I'll walk away right now."

Lynette let out a shaky breath, but forced herself to keep her eyes locked on his. "I don't love you."

"You're lying."

"We haven't seen each other in years, Tom. We barely knew each other when you left. What do you expect me to say?"

"I don't know."

Pityingly, Lynette raised a hand to his cheek and let her fingers play over the stubble there before running her thumb over his lips and dropping her hand. "Goodbye, Tom."

When she walked away he didn't follow her.


	3. In All the World: Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **Nothing in the _Desperate Housewives_ universe belongs to me.

**A/n: **Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this because I'm really having a blast writing it. I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter, so please take a second and let me know.

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Three: In All the World…**

**Chapter One**

It was storming the night Lynette found herself outside of Tom's apartment. The March rain was bitterly cold and unavoidable—it flew in sideways and, though seemingly impossible, upwards—and she was soaked through by the time she arrived and shakily pushed the buzzer for apartment 1006. Even though it was after one in the morning, and even though she was sure he had a sleeping wife and child to contend with, Tom sounded almost pleasant when his voice crackled through with a sleepy, "Hello?"

Immediately her breath hitched and she fought the urge to cry. She didn't want to do this; she didn't want to be here under these circumstances, but at this point what choice was there? Shivering, she reached out to press the button again and managed to hold herself together long enough to say, "It's Lynette. Can I please come up?"

There was a pause during which she was sure Tom was considering why the hell she would show up at his place in the middle of the night after not seeing or hearing from her in almost two years; wondering how to explain this to his family; but she wasn't surprised when the door unlocked a moment later and she was granted entrance. She had an entire world from which to choose a place to run, but she'd ended up here for a reason. A strange, emotional, rash reason, to be sure, but certainly not a stupid one.

The lobby of the apartment building was warm and well lit and she felt like an unwelcome invader as she trod to the elevators, leaving a mess of water in her wake. She was glad that there wasn't a mirror inside the elevator; she didn't want to know what she looked like cold and wet and broken; she didn't want to see what Tom was going to see when she arrived at his apartment.

The lift came to a graceful stop on the tenth floor and the doors parted to reveal a sleek hallway with freshly painted doors and shiny wooden floors. She had the brief, out-of-place realization that Tom must have been doing well for himself before the thought was brushed aside by the unpleasant squeak of her sneakers against the floor. Each step seemed to scream that she was coming—a wild disturbance to the law and order of this place—and she practically sprinted the last few steps to Tom's door just to make the noise stop. She rapped on the door just twice before Tom opened it.

Despite having made some silent, unconscious pact with herself to hold it together and stay strong, the second she saw Tom standing in his pajamas and bathrobe, hair disheveled and eyes slightly bleary, she felt a lump rise in her throat. And as he looked at her in horror, hissing, "God, what happened to you?" she truly fell apart. Sobbing, she stepped toward him, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his chest. She didn't care that his wife was asleep in the next room; she didn't care that she was soaking wet—she was reveling in one truly selfish moment and she didn't feel a bit of remorse.

Tom seemed stunned for a moment—by her presence or her behavior or her appearance or all three she wasn't sure—but he barely hesitated before he brought his arms up to embrace her, rubbing his hands up and down her back and whispering quiet nonsense as though he was soothing a child. "Shh," he hushed her gently, kissing the top of her head. "It's gonna be okay."

Of course it really wasn't.

Lynette lost track of how long they stood like that—of how long it was before the warmth of him and his scent and his mindless platitudes finally calmed her and she slowly took a step back from him. To her surprise, Tom cupped her cheeks in his hands, gave her a sad smile, and then gently kissed her. Numb, she barely recognized the affection and didn't fight Tom when he ushered her inside and shut the door. "Come on," he ordered firmly. "You need to get out of these clothes."

Tom peeled her coat from her body, draping it on a hook near the door, and then put his hands on her shoulders to steer her down the hall to a bathroom. Wordlessly, he sat down on the edge of the tub and turned on the water and as she slowly watched the bath fill, he kept his eyes focused on her face. She could feel his concern—it was the only thing that pierced her frozen exterior—but neither of them said anything until Tom finally turned off the water. "I'll get you something to wear," he said, standing.

Desperate, Lynette grabbed his hand as he passed, unable to fight a sudden, paralyzing fear of being alone. "Don't leave," she said quietly, even as she hated herself for making the request. "Please."

Tom studied her for a moment, his eyes completely unreadable, but then he slowly nodded. "Okay," he murmured. He ran his hand over her cheek, down her neck, shoulder and arm, and settled at the hem of her sodden sweatshirt. He paused and she gave a slight nod of assent, obediently raising her arms so he could remove the top. What point was there in hiding anything now? She had already stripped bare her soul—did anything else matter?

In one go, Tom removed her sweatshirt and tank top at the same time, unceremoniously dropping them on the floor. In a tender perusal of her body, his hands skimmed over the discolored skin of her ribs and the slight swell of her stomach that guarded her most precious secret; it was an exploration…a vain attempt to heal her… a comfort—she wasn't sure why he touched her, but it was a welcome sensation. Carefully, he unbuttoned her pants and tugged them down, letting her use his shoulder to balance herself as she stepped out of them while he struggled with the clasp of her bra. In some show of modesty that she didn't share but still appreciated, he kept his eyes on hers as he removed the garment and then slowly did the same with her underwear.

How strange that in the least sexy moment of her life, she'd never felt more loved.

Tom pressed a brief kiss to her forehead before helping her into the bathtub. Immediately she sank down into the water, submerging herself completely, letting the heat sooth and warm her from the inside-out. It wasn't until she had to breathe that she pulled up a little, brushing her hair and the water from her eyes and sighing deeply. She glanced at Tom; he had sat down on the toilet and was still watching her. In his gaze she could finally see the thousands of questions that burned right beneath the surface, waiting to spill out and scald her. It was inevitable; after all of this, it was his right.

But she already knew that she had to be the one to start.

"Are you here alone?" It was a cursory question; she'd known from the moment he'd kissed her that his wife was certainly not in the next room.

"Yes." He sighed and ran a weary hand over his face. "We've been separated for almost a year. It's not working out…I don't think it's ever going to work out, but we keep pretending it will for Charlie's sake." He paused—maybe waiting for an acknowledgment that she didn't give—and then said, "Who did that to you?"

Without thinking, Lynette raised a hand to run her fingers over her bruised and swollen eye, not sure if she meant to hide it or remind herself that it had happened. It seemed hazy now; like it had happened to someone else. "My boyfriend," she said, immediately and for the first time feeling self-conscious. Somehow admitting it made her feel weaker, more pitiable and pathetic. "I knew he had a temper…" She trailed off and shrugged. It was a cliché—poor little girl who grew up in an abusive home ended up in an abusive relationship. She'd always thought she was more than that. Why was it that she was only good at proving herself wrong?

There was a barely concealed tremor of rage in Tom's next words. "Has this happened before?"

"No. This was the first time it got physical. And I just…God, I felt so stupid. I should have seen it coming. I should have broken up with him months ago…"

"Is it his baby?"

Lynette shut her eyes for a moment, unable to look at him as she nodded. "He didn't want it, but I couldn't…" She trailed off and shrugged. "After he left, I just ran. I didn't pack anything; I didn't think…I just ran."

"Why here?"

"I don't know."

Tom slipped off of the toilet onto the floor, walking toward her on his knees and then leaning in to capture her face between his hands. He seemed at a loss for words—torn between berating her and loving her and comforting her—and after a minute he simply kissed her. It was everything he couldn't say: how much he missed her; how angry he was that she was hurt; how much he wanted to make it all better; how much he loved her. Overwhelmed, Lynette felt tears building behind her eyelids once again and by the time Tom pulled back, gently laying his forehead against hers, she was crying.

"This never should have happened," he whispered. Despite not knowing what he meant, she nodded, reveling in the soft kisses he pressed all over her face. "You are everything. You deserve _everything_."

God, how she wished that was true.

Tom kissed her one more time and then stood and opened a closet to pull out a towel. He unfolded it as she gingerly stood and climbed out of the tub, not arguing as he wrapped her in the soft terry cloth and gently dried her off. For the first time in her life, someone was taking care of her and she was surprised by how wonderful that felt.

"Thank you," she said softly. She went up on tiptoe for a second to press her lips against his cheek—the first time she'd ever taken the initiative to kiss him. The movement gave him a moment's pause, but in the end, Tom shook his head and didn't reply.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asked as he led her out of the bathroom and down a hall to his bedroom. It was neater than she'd expected it to be, dressed in cool blue tones and dark wood. The bed was mussed and she was reminded that she'd dragged him out of bed; that he had to work in the morning.

"No," she said dimly. He handed her a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of sweats with a drawstring. "I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. I'm going to make you something. Get dressed. I'll be right back."

Lynette barely reacted as he left, automatically following his orders by dropping the towel on the floor and putting on the oversized clothes. Then, her innate curiosity getting the best of her no matter what the circumstances, she began to walk around the room. If Tom had been living there nearly a year, his bedroom was still surprisingly devoid of personal touches. The only artwork on his wall was a black and white picture of a sailboat out on Lake Michigan and his dresser held a small collection of only three framed photos: one of a group of people she didn't recognize; one of a small boy; and one of Tom with the same little boy. She picked up the last one, frowning down at it and unconsciously running her hand over her stomach. What was she doing? Tom had a whole life here; one that was happy and healthy and complete. She had nothing to bring to it; nothing but destruction and pain…

Pushing her thoughts aside, Lynette set down the picture and crossed the room to crawl into Tom's bed. Despite everything, the second she pulled up the covers and laid her head on the pillow, sleep overtook her, blessedly blocking out the entire world.


	4. In all the World: Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **Nope. It didn't magically become mine overnight.

**A/n: **Reviews are like my fuel-they keep me going all day long. Thank you to those of you who took the time to review the last chapter and an extra special thanks to those of you who will review this one. It really makes a 10 hour work day seem less horrible.

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Three: In All the World…**

**Chapter Two**

In the brief time between sleep and waking came one of those rare, perfect moments that Lynette knew she could search the rest of her life for and never find again. Through her closed eyes she could tell that the morning light was lazily creeping through the blinds, but for once she didn't feel the urgency to get up and go. For once there was nowhere to be; no hurry to move from the warm bed and the comforting embrace of the arms that held her. Tom was already awake; she could feel his hand moving in slow circles over her stomach. In that moment it was easy to pretend that this was her life.

He sensed she was waking up; encouraged it with a muffled kiss to the back of her head. "Good morning," he mumbled—a greeting she could only return with a sleepy murmur. He chuckled and kissed her again. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I've been waiting six years for this," he sighed. "For you. And it's so much better than I thought it would be."

And as though she was doused with a frigid bucket of water, it was then that Lynette woke up.

Without responding, she rolled on to her back, brushing her hair from her eyes and forcing her gaze to remain fixed on the ceiling even as Tom began to kiss her neck. His touch was different this morning; expectant—purposeful. She could feel his intent in the way his lips burned against her neck; in the motion of his hand as it trailed gently under her shirt toward her breast. For a moment she indulged him—indulged herself, because the truth was that she'd been waiting six years for this too—before she cleared her throat and said, "What time is it?"

Tom laughed into her skin and rolled away from her for a second to look at the clock on his nightstand. Somehow that hurt more than anything else; he thought they had all the time in the world and the truth was that their time had come and passed years ago. She was going to break his heart and he wouldn't see it coming.

"Nine forty," he said, interrupting her thoughts. She sat up in bed and he followed suit, reaching out a hand to play with her hair. "You have somewhere to be?" he teased.

"I have to call work. Tell someone that I'm not going to be in." She frowned. "Speaking of, shouldn't you be at work?"

"I called off over an hour ago. Do you always sleep so soundly or is my bed just that comfortable?"

Lynette smiled at him even though she really felt like crying. She couldn't afford to be weak now. "I'll be right back," she said, and without waiting for him to respond, she climbed out of bed and padded out of the room, careful not to trip on the bottoms of the too-long sweatpants. She shouldn't have come here—she could see that now as clear as day. She'd known that Tom was interested in her; she'd known that he would take her in without judging her; she'd known he would take care of her, and she'd exploited those facts by showing up at his door last night. But ending this now, before anything truly started, was for the best. He'd understand that in the end.

With trembling hands, Lynette dug her cell phone out of her coat pocket and managed to dial the number for the office before she completely lost it. It was not quite eight o'clock back home, a little early for anyone to be in the office, but she left a message on her assistant's voicemail promising to be back at work Monday morning. Then, after safely tucking her phone away once again, she crept back through the living room and down the hall to the bathroom.

"Clothes," she muttered, peering around the bathroom, but spotting only her bra hooked over the bar that held the shower curtain. Frowning, she snatched it down and continued her search. "Where did you put my clothes?"

"What are you doing?"

Startled, Lynette's hand flew to her heart and she whipped around. "Jeez," she breathed. "You scared the hell out of me."

Tom glanced at her bra with a raised eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "I threw your clothes in the dryer last night. Do you need them?"

She nodded, unable to speak, and then shifted uncertainly as Tom stalked out of the room. She didn't want things to end this way; not in a messy argument; not with him hating her. But she supposed it was inevitable.

Tom returned with her clothes and handed them to her, a wary but not yet angry look in his eyes. "Everything okay?"

"Uh-huh." She looked down at her clothes, twisting a bit of the fabric between her fingers. "I called work. Told them I'd be back on Monday."

"And that's it? You're just going to go back like nothing happened. Like that asshole's not going to be there waiting for you?"

"Of course not."

"Then what?" asked Tom, his tone still affecting nonchalance. She could tell it was an act. "What's the plan?"

"I don't know. I'll probably stay with my sister for awhile. Figure out what I'm going to do."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What about us?"

Lynette shook her head and chuckled bitterly. "Us?" she repeated cruelly, finally managing to look at him. He still seemed surprisingly calm. "There is no us."

Tom sighed clearly more exasperated than anything else. His reactions were toying with her and not knowing what to expect only put her more on edge. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Are you that afraid of being happy?"

"I didn't come here thinking that this would be our big chance, Tom," she snapped. Her eyes prickled with tears and she took a deep breath to try to keep them at bay. "You're still married. I'm pregnant. We live in different cites."

As though he hadn't heard a word she'd said, Tom bypassed her excuses and asked, "Why did you come here?"

"What?"

"You came here, Lynette. To me. I live halfway across the country. You haven't seen me in two years and the last time you did I was acting like a drunken idiot. So why did you come here?"

"I…I don't know."

"You're lying."

Lynette let out a shaky breath that didn't prevent the tears from spilling over and running down her cheeks. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"I already did."

Tom nodded. "Okay," he said softly. He took a few steps toward her and put his hands on her shoulders, quickly bending and kissing her forehead. "I'm going to go out. Get some coffee from the place down the street." He pushed her hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking her jaw as he did. "Just…don't leave. Okay?"

She bit her lip, not sure what more there was to say, but also certain that she didn't really want to go. "Okay," she agreed.

Despite how cagey she'd been acting, Tom seemed to take her word at face value and he left the room without further comment. A few minutes later, she heard the front door open and close and the apartment descended into a very unsettling quiet.

Lynette set her clothes down on the counter around the sink and slowly took off the shirt Tom had given her the night before. For the first time, she took a moment to examine her wounds for herself, turning slightly to the side to get a better view of her ribcage in the mirror. The bruises there weren't so visible, though she could feel them whenever she moved. Worse was the black eye—a discolored mass of bruising and swollen so that she still couldn't open completely. Suddenly the underlying concern in everything Tom had said seemed much more understandable.

_You can't just stop living…_

She would go home, she decided, picking up her bra and hissing in pain as she went to clasp it. She'd go home and go to the police to file a report; crash with her sister for awhile. Lydia was living with some guy who worked as a bouncer at a club and there weren't many better ways to feel protected than that. Life was going to go on one way or another.

Pulling on her tank top and then rolling Tom's pants a few times at the waist to shorten the length, she ran her fingers through her hair and left the bathroom without further consideration of her physical appearance. Ravenous, she made her way to the kitchen and promptly began to raid Tom's cupboards. At this point there were very few boundaries left as it was; what was a little food hunt in comparison to everything else?

Just as she settled down on one of the barstools that lined the counter with a big bowl of cereal, the front door opened again and Tom bustled in balancing two cups of coffee and a paper bag. "I brought muffins," he called, kicking the door shut with his foot. He glanced at her and smiled. "But I guess maybe that wasn't necessary."

Lynette waved him off, swallowing the big bite she'd just taken. "I'm eating for two. It's more than necessary."

Tom set the bag and coffee down within reach of her and kissed the top of her head. "Good," he said. "They're chocolate chip."

"Even better." She reached for the bag, digging out one of the muffins and broke off a piece. "You really know how to treat a girl."

"That's what I like to hear."

Tom sat down next to her, resting one hand around the back of her chair and taking a sip from his coffee cup. Despite the level of comfortableness between them, there was a certain tension that hung in the air regarding everything that wasn't being said. She could tell that Tom was treating her with kid gloves and she both appreciated and resented the effort.

"So it's been a long time since I've played hooky from work," he said, reaching over and plucking a Cheerio from her bowl. "But I'm thinking…movie marathon? I have microwave popcorn."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"Well I'd suggest a board game, but most of the ones I have are for the three to seven age group. Unless you're really into Candyland."

Lynette gave him a small smile. "I don't think I should stay much longer. It's just going to be worse if we drag this out."

"Lynette?" Tom rotated her chair, spinning the seat until she was facing him and their knees were touching. "I don't think it's possible to drag this out any more than we already have."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. But it's all the same thing when it comes down to it." He ran a finger over the back of her hand, letting it dance over her knuckles and whirl down to her wrist. "I'm going to get a divorce."

"Don't say that."

"I am. We never should have gotten married. It was the worst mistake I've ever made and there isn't a day that's gone by that I haven't regretted it. God, we haven't even been alone together for more than fifteen minutes in nearly two months. It's over, and I've just been too scared to admit that until now."

Lynette nodded, but her eyes begged him not to go on. She knew what came next and she wasn't sure she had the willpower to resist him.

"I want you, Lynette. I always have."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say he was wrong—that he couldn't possibly want her. She was weak and broken and lost and scared. Maybe once she could have been the one, but that was so long ago it was nothing but a dream now. But before she could say anything, Tom leaned forward and kissed her, effectively silencing any argument she might have made.

She had no strength left to resist.


	5. The Winding Road Back Home

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine, not even a little bit.

**A/n: **Thank you all for reviewing! I'm so glad you're enjoying this, as different as it is.

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Four: The Winding Road Back Home**

In her mind, Lynette had always imagined that having sex with Tom would be something akin to burning alive. They'd spent months fighting a slow-building, smoldering heat that might have led to some night of reckless passion if things had gone differently. Her encounter with him four years later had been, if anything, even more heated and sexually charged. And yet, after all this time, it hadn't been a hot, hurried, emotionless act—just the opposite, in fact. Every touch had been a long, loving caress; every kiss gentle and reassuring. It was lovemaking in every sense of the word; passion found in intimacy and exploration rather than fast, dirty sex. She wasn't sure how such an act was possible with someone she'd known for fleeting minutes years and years ago, but she certainly knew what it meant. She was in love with him; simply, idiotically, irrationally in love with him.

She lay with her head at the foot of the bed. She'd stolen all of Tom's pillows and was quite comfortably snuggled in a heavenly cushion of cotton, but he didn't seem to mind her monopoly. In fact, he seemed quite content propped up on his elbow, watching her with an expression of such tenderness that she almost shied away from it. The only thing that terrified her more than the realization that she loved him was the frightening notion of how much he cared for her. No one else in her life had ever come close to looking at her—to treating her—the way Tom did, and she couldn't quite believe that she'd done anything to deserve his love. The fear, which lay deep inside of her, eating her alive, was that sooner or later he'd come to realize this and stop loving her. She knew, absolutely, that she couldn't afford become dependent on his affection, but she was afraid she already was.

"I never knew it was possible to be this happy," said Tom, breaking the flow of her thoughts. She was glad; it felt grounding and drew her back to the reality of the moment. "It's like I've been waiting forever for this moment and I just feel so stupid because I could have had it years ago."

She gave him a small smile. "Your life would be completely different now."

"Trust me, that wouldn't be a bad thing."

_How do you know?_, she wanted to ask. _Would everything have just worked out? Happily ever after…_

Apparently her worry showed on her face because Tom frowned, squeezing her big toe to pull her focus back to him. "Are you happy?"

She hesitated for just a moment before nodding, but the pause seemed to be enough to hurt him. There was a tinge of pain in his eyes and then he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, pulling away from her physically and emotionally. The brush-off, though she'd started it, stung. "I am happy," she said firmly. "Right now. But this is just a moment. This is just one day…"

"It doesn't have to be."

For perhaps the first time in her life, Lynette didn't argue. In all the time she'd known him, Tom had been a dreamer. He lived in a world far beyond reality; a world that was impractical and idealistic; one where anything could happen. It was hard to watch when reality came to drag him back to earth, but it was nearly impossibly painful to be the one who dragged him back. She was tired of doing it and annoyed that inevitably she would be the one to break this bubble of happiness they were in. Their lives were worlds apart and melding them at this point seemed more than impossible. But she wasn't going to point that out; not now. Let him have his moment.

"You know," said Tom slowly, "Annabel and I weren't planning to get married when we first came here. We both knew that we didn't really belong together."

"Why did you marry her?"

Tom shrugged. "We had Charlie and in those first few months we were practically living together anyway. Somehow we got it into our heads that being parents meant that we should really commit to each other. So we got married. And it was so…wrong."

Lynette stayed quiet, unsure of what to say. Maybe she didn't need to say anything.

"I don't want to make that mistake again. I want to be with someone I really love. And I want to be with someone who really loves me." He turned, looking at her for a moment and then crawling down the bed toward her, pausing just for a moment to kiss her shoulder. "I love you, Lynette."

She shut her eyes; swallowed the lump in her throat. "Why?" she asked. The word came out strangled and she winced.

"Why what?"

"Why do you love me? God, Tom…I'm so…_broken_."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am. I don't trust anyone—not even myself. I have control issues that no one could even begin to understand. I've never let myself fall in love with anyone before because I'm so scared that I'll get hurt. And with everything that's happened lately…It's like I don't even know who I am anymore."

"You…God, you are so…" Tom gathered her face between his hands, kissing her gently. "Strong and smart and funny and gorgeous and brave—"

"I'm scared of everything."

"If that was true, you wouldn't have come here."

_Why did you come _here?

"I love you," she said, the tears finally spilling over and running down her cheeks. They fell into Tom's fingers, running in the creases until he smeared them away. "That's why I came here. And because I knew you'd take care of me. And because I knew you loved me."

"Yes," said Tom softly. He leaned in and kissed her again, breathing the words into her mouth. "I love you. I love you so much."

"But I have to go back home. And you have to stay here."

Tom shook his head. "No," he said, resting his forehead against hers as though he was trying to burn the thought into her brain. "No."

"Yes. You can't…" She sighed, the pain actually hurting her heart, and started again. "Tom, you're not even free to give yourself to anyone."

"I will be."

"But not yet. And I have a life a thousand miles from here."

Tom began to cry—not fighting it as she had, but just openly breaking down. For the first time, she realized that maybe she wasn't the only one who was broken. Maybe the years had been just as unkind to Tom. Maybe he was afraid of the same things she was. And the idea of letting her go again terrified him. But she knew, cruel as it was, that it could only be good that he finally understood.

Tom laid his head against her shoulder, muffling a sob that he couldn't contain. And her heart broke for him.


	6. The Gentle Weeping of the Willow Tree

**Disclaimer: **It's still not mine. What else is new?

**A/n: **It's always darkest before the dawn…The angst is going to get worse before it gets better, but I hope you guys stick with me. I really appreciate all the great feedback.

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Five: The Gentle Weeping of the Willow Tree**

In the last few months, whenever Lynette dreamt of Tom, it was always of a moment that had never actually happened. They were in his car, driving to the airport after her temporary escape from the horrible realities of her life, and not saying a word to one another. All the while she felt this terrible anxiety—would he speak?; would he break down and beg her to stay?; did she want him to? In the dream, she never got any answers. They just kept driving, driving, driving in eternal silence.

She could never decide if the way it had really happened had been bleaker or not. After two days of being in his arms—of being _together—_Sunday morning she'd slipped from his bed and left only a note to mark that she'd been there. Initially, she'd simply intended it to be a goodbye, but in a fit of madness, she'd added a postscript to the note that included her email address. It was an act she later regretted; after a few disconcertingly informal, friendly emails, their correspondence ended as suddenly as it began.

_It was a fantasy_, she'd decided after weeping and cursing and breaking. _It was two days and we both _knew_ that. You were a fool for trying to make it last any longer._

And eventually—after telling herself that over and over again for months—she believed it. She deleted the last email she'd gotten from him, the one that started, _Hey gorgeous,_ and ended with a simple _Yours, Tom. _She stopped fantasizing about the touch of his hands and that look in his eyes when they'd made love. She pushed the memories away; she worked so hard not to think about him. The only place she couldn't erase him from was her dreams. When she slept, they were forever locked in that car together and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"_Say something!" she screamed in her head as she turned to look at Tom. He didn't acknowledge her. His eyes were fixed on the road; on some endless point that he could see, but she couldn't in the gray-white world outside. "Say something!"_

She woke with a start, more disoriented than usual by her strange surroundings. The hospital room was warm in the twilight of evening, but Lynette had never felt more chilled. Her skin peppered with goosepimples and her stomach tightened in a sudden and horrible anxiety. She knew, before she even turned her head, that he was there, just as she'd always been able to tell when he came into the room. But this time it was inexplicable. It was impossible. She blinked, trying to wash the exhaustion from her eyes, and whispered, "Am I dreaming?"

Tom, perhaps sharing that same odd awareness of her presence, turned and looked at her. She bit her lip, for once not bothering to fight the tears that stung her eyes, and willed him to speak. If he spoke that meant it wasn't a dream; it meant that he was really there, standing in front of her and holding her newborn daughter in his arms like not a day had passed without them speaking. If he spoke it meant that everything was okay—she could forgive and forget anything if he just said something to her now.

"Hi," he said softly. Lynette, never in her life so relieved to hear that one word, released an unbidden sob and echoed, "Hi."

"I heard about…" He nodded toward the baby and shrugged one shoulder. "And I thought…I wanted to…"

Lynette shut her eyes, leaning back against her pillow. "I'm so glad you're here," she breathed.

"Really?"

She smiled and turned her head to give him a languorous look. She thought she should probably be mad or outraged or self-righteous; he was never more than a phantom in her life. But all she felt was relief. She gave him a small nod. "Yes. I missed you."

"I…" He trailed off and shook his head, and as happy as she had been just a second ago, Lynette suddenly felt nauseated. There was something else going on. There was something that wasn't being said; the same thing that had stretched out in the endless silence between them for months now. Just because Tom was here didn't mean that everything was suddenly okay. After a pause that seemed to stretch out for eons, Tom said, "I missed you too."

"Did you?" she asked. He steadfastly ignored her gaze, staring at her daughter instead. "Tom?"

"I don't know why I came here. I just…I was on the phone with George because he'd heard about…" Tom stopped suddenly and winced, physically shaking off what remained of the unfinished sentence. "He mentioned you'd gone into labor at work and…I didn't think, Lynette. I just booked a flight and came here and…"

Lynette wiped the tears from her eyes with a sigh. In every broken word he'd spoken lay a thousand things unsaid. The reason that he'd stopped emailing her; the reason that she could hear regret so thick in his voice that she knew he wished he'd never come. And somehow she knew intuitively what that reason was—she'd known for months, but she'd never wanted to admit it because it would ruin everything.

"I love you," he said desperately. 'You know I love you."

_God, _she thought. _He won't be happy until he completely breaks my heart…_

In all her life she'd never gone down without a fight. She wouldn't start now. "Why did you stop emailing me?"

Tom stiffened. Even in the dim light she could tell that he was silently begging her not to pursue this. But for the first time in years, Lynette realized that Tom had been right about her. She was strong. She wasn't some weak, pathetic creature that would just lie there and let him use her again and again. Not even now, in a moment where she felt more vulnerable than ever before. Steadily, she repeated, "Why did you stop emailing me?"

"Lynette, it's complicated—"

"Damn it, Tom," she said, but the words came out on a sob and sounded more hurt than angry. "Don't fuck around with me. Not now."

"I'm still married."

And there it was. Lynette was surprised. The words hurt much less than she thought they would. Probably because she had known they were coming. She'd known when he stopped emailing her three months ago; she had grieved then. And now, she realized slowly…now she just had to let go.

"You have to understand," he implored, walking to the bed and sitting down on the edge. She could see now that he looked terrible; there were dark circles under his eyes and he had lost some weight. The combination made him look haggard. "Five months ago when I told you I was getting divorced, I meant it. Lynette, I went down and filed the papers the day after you left, I swear to God. But then—"

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, cutting off whatever excuses he had. "What is the point?"

"I had to stop lying to you. I was going to email you…Tell you the truth about everything, but I couldn't find the words and I just—"

Lynette held up a trembling hand. "Please stop," she begged. "I don't want to hear this."

"I shouldn't have come here. Not now. I wasn't going to come until I was free. That way we could be together…"

"You're never going to be free, Tom. Even if you want to be…You're too noble."

"You're wrong—"

"No. For once I'm right." She struggled to sit up, reaching out for her baby. For a second, Tom pulled back, but immediately seemed to realize he had no right and gently acquiesced. With her daughter crooked in her arm, Lynette found a renewed sense of strength and pointed to the door. "Get out."

"Lynette, please…I shouldn't have come here. I know that. But I love you."

"No." She shut her eyes and shook her head, hating her heart for believing him. Even if he was telling the truth, nothing was ever going to change. She knew that now. She finally had all the answers that she'd been seeking for months. "Just go away," she whispered. "Please."

Tom didn't say anything and Lynette kept her eyes firmly shut, but when he finally left the room she could feel that he was gone as keenly as if he'd been ripped straight from her arms.


	7. Pain of Cold November Days: Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **Oh you know it isn't mine.

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by** Ryeloza**

**Part Six: The Pain of Cold November Days  
**

**Chapter One**

It was a particularly chilly and dismal Wednesday that Lynette fell asleep in the middle of a meeting. After six weeks of maternity leave that had been anything but restful, she was now in the midst of her second week back to work; the result of pulling double duty was less than rewarding and more exhausting than she would have ever thought. This was why when Liz delivered a discreet kick to her shin to rouse her during their late afternoon conference, Lynette mostly wanted to kick her back and drift off again. Embarrassment and guilt were so far from her mind that the rest of the world might have been disgusted by how little she cared about falling asleep on the job.

She would have sold her right arm for a few solid hours of sleep.

The meeting dragged on for another forty-five minutes before people started to drift back to the respective offices and cubicles, but as Lynette stood to make her escape—and maybe catch forty winks behind her closed office door—Liz caught her by the arm and forced her to stay in her seat. They sat quietly until the room cleared out and then Liz delivered her opening salvo: "You look terrible. Have you slept at all since the baby was born?"

Lynette rubbed her eyes wearily. The concern was touching, if less than helpful. "Maybe an hour." She couldn't quite manage a smile and the joke fell flat. "I'm working twelve hour days and then going home to a newborn. What do you think?"

"I think you should have taken some more time off."

"Right."

"Okay, fine." Liz rubbed the bridge of her nose, a nervous twitch that she was rarely aware of. "Well at least take a night off. George will be back by Saturday. He and I can take the baby for a few hours; let you get some sleep."

Where Lynette would normally brush off the offer in the chance that someone would think she was less than capable, she instead clasped her hands together and said gratefully, "That would be amazing. Thank you."

"It's fine. You'd actually be doing me a favor. I keep trying to tell George we're ready to have kids, but the man is so stubborn. And then after everything that happened with Tom, he's completely convinced that there're more reasons not to have a kid than to have one."

Lynette, who had really stopped listening after Liz mentioned Tom's name, tried desperately to remain slack; casual. Truthfully, she was suddenly hyper-aware of herself; as though every nerve ending in her body was alert and every other thought or sound was blocked out by the intense noise in her head—almost as though the ocean waves crashed again and again in her mind. She'd spent six weeks successfully barring Tom from her thoughts and had even been mostly free of him in her dreams. In some naïve, silly way she'd assumed that meant she was over him.

_You are over him_, she told herself. _You are _over him.

Of course, that didn't mean she still wasn't curious. "Tom Scavo?" she asked, unable to keep the slight tremor out of her voice. She hated herself for that. "What about him?"

Liz's eyes widened. "God, didn't you hear? His son died a few days ago."

And just like that, the world dropped out from beneath her. There was no sense or reason or thought, just the unceasing and incredibly sickening sense of shock. She felt dizzy, ill and unable to breathe, but Liz didn't seem to notice that she was about to be violently sick. She was still going—still talking—still explaining—damn it, _pay attention_.

"…been sick for so long now. He went into remission for awhile, but last spring they found another tumor and there was nothing they could do. The funeral was today. That's where George went. I thought you knew."

"No," said Lynette, the word coming out in a strange voice that wasn't hers. Her mind was a million miles away, remembering that grinning little boy in the picture on Tom's dresser. It seemed impossible. "No, I didn't know."

She didn't know. He'd never told her. But suddenly it all made sense. Why he and Annabel had stayed together for so long when they'd been miserable from the start. Why he hadn't gone through with the divorce after their tryst together last March. Why he had looked so run down when she'd seen him six weeks ago.

And he'd never said a word.

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

Lynette nodded, tears stinging her eyes as she stood up and took a shaky step toward the door. "Yeah," she managed to rasp. "I'm fine." And without doing anything more to convince Liz that she wasn't about to fall apart, Lynette left the room and marched straight out of the office suite, down the hall and outside. Immediately the bitter cold bit into her skin, stung her cheeks and dug its way down into her bones, but Lynette barely noticed.

All she could do was stand there and sob.


	8. Pain of Cold November Days: Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, it's not mine. I just wish it was.

**A/n: **Getting close to the end of this one. My goal is to have it done by the season premiere. Thank you all for reviewing!

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Six: The Pain of Cold November Days  
**

**Chapter Two**

A week passed before Lynette decided to go to Chicago and see Tom. Although, perhaps decided was too strong a word. The need to see him had been overwhelming and innate; something she had to do rather than wanted to do. Every time she really stopped to think about it, she realized that the reasons not to go were far greater, but then she shook the thoughts out of her head and simply moved forward with the plan. Her sister was watching Matilda, going so far as to accept Lynette's rather indefinite point of return, and work was taken care of with a bout of pretend sick days. All of this effort and yet Lynette realized that there was every chance in the world that Tom simply wouldn't open the door and let her in.

Maybe, but she didn't really believe it.

Snow fell, thick and wet, as Lynette hurried up the steps outside of his apartment building. In a fortuitous moment, the front door opened at the same time, and a friendly looking woman who was bundled to the nines held it open for her. Lynette smiled gratefully, pulling off her mittens as she walked inside, and made a quick trek to the elevator before one of the many people in the lobby realized she didn't actually live there.

Even though it had only been nine months, and even though the apartment building hadn't changed, Lynette felt as though it had been years since she'd been there. In March, she had walked down Tom's hallway completely ripped to shreds and tormented; now there was nothing but an unsettling emptiness inside. The difference was striking, but she couldn't decide which was worse.

Lynette reached Tom's door, raised her hand to knock, and then changed her mind and reached for the doorknob. It easily turned in her hand. Hesitating only slightly, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. Despite the fact that it was mid-morning, the apartment was dim, the result of curtains and blinds being drawn against the brilliant white world outside. The living room was messier than the last time she'd been there: piles of clothes littered the furniture and there was a collection of take-out bags and boxes ripening on the coffee table and floor. Of particular concern were the number of beer bottles smattered throughout the room, and Lynette could only hope it was several days' accumulation and not simply that morning's. With a half-hearted sigh, she shut the door, but then paused with a sudden feeling that she was invading. She couldn't go a step further without permission; though she would never be able to give a reason why, this was where she drew the line.

After what felt like a very long time, but was, in actuality, maybe a minute, she heard the sound of the toilet running and a moment later Tom stumbled into the living room, looking down at his fly as he attempted to fasten it. She realized, dimly, that the action answered her question about the beer, but the worry barely had time to form before he looked up at her in bleary-eyed surprise. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and then looked at her again, almost as if he couldn't believe she stood before him. She could understand. She'd felt the same way when he'd come to the hospital. "You're here?" he asked.

She nodded, unsure of what to say, and warily watched as he bumbled into the living room and plopped down on the floor next the couch. Slowly, she took off her boots and then unbuttoned her coat and hung it on the hook by the door, never taking her eyes off of him; not taking one step closer. She wanted to take a cue from him, to base her behavior off of his actions or words, but Tom simply sat there, sucking down what remained of one of the beer bottles. The alcohol, the silence, the situation—they all made him unpredictable, and it gradually dawned on Lynette that she would have to be prepared to change direction whichever way the wind might blow.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said. He clasped his hands around the bottle as though he was praying. "I kept hoping you would because you're the only one who knows…the only one…"

Lynette forced herself to find her voice. "The only one who knows what?"

For the first time, Tom's eyes found hers, and Lynette literally had to force herself not to step back against the depth of the emotion in them. She instinctively wanted to hide, but she wasn't sure from what. Finally, Tom released her, looking down at his hands. "The only one who knows what to do."

Lynette wanted to deny it; she wanted to laugh in disbelief; she wanted to scoff. They were all things that she knew not to do, but as far as what she should do, she didn't have a clue. The sad truth was that she rarely knew what to do—she went by impulse, leaping forward without looking to see what lay below her, and just prayed for the best. She wasn't sure that it was ever smart or right or safe, but she didn't know any other way. Usually it was easy to make others believe she was competent; Tom was the one person who she'd always been sure she'd never fooled because he'd seen too many of her bad choices—he'd seen her at her lowest. But maybe that didn't mean that he saw her as any less capable. Maybe that meant that it was secretly okay that she didn't have a clue what to do.

No longer thinking, Lynette crossed the room, stepping into Tom's personal space and slowly sinking down to settle into his lap. He didn't protest when she took the bottle from him and set it on the table, just wrapping his arms around her back and drawing his legs beneath him so they were crossed. Lynette echoed the movement by hooking her legs around his waist and then took his face between her hands. "I'm here," she promised. "You don't have to be alone."

Tom's face crumpled and she swore she could feel his soul breaking. Without meaning to, she started to cry too. Gently, she drew him to her shoulder, running her hands over the back of his neck and head, just letting him cry. Neither of them tried to speak; they simply clung to one another and wept.

Time ceased to exist as they both took the opportunity to finally let go. She didn't know what exactly Tom was feeling, but his grief crushed her; his pain broke her heart. She was also angry—so bitterly angry—that they were destined to never have a happy moment. They were two people tied together by anguish and heartache and it had become intertwined with their love. She was surer with every passing day that their fate was to be there to hold each other up through their worst moments. But she wanted more; she so desperately wanted more.

Life wasn't meant to only be sadness.

"I don't know how to feel," Tom mumbled into her shoulder. He had calmed some, but his breath was shaky and she could still feel his tears against her skin. "It hurts. It hurts so badly it's like someone is squeezing my heart until I can't breathe."

She kissed the side of his head, silently encouraging him to keep talking. She knew intuitively that Tom hadn't said this to anyone before, but he needed to.

"But…" A sob broke and his back shuddered beneath her hands. "But I'm also relieved. He was in so much pain and by the end he wasn't even responsive. And part of me is glad that he doesn't have to suffer anymore. That…that I don't have to suffer anymore. And that's horrible."

"No it's not."

"It is. I feel so guilty. I was his father."

Lynette pulled away, taking a firm hold of Tom's chin and forcing him to look at her. His eyes were so expressive that she could see into his soul; it was what she had shied away from earlier. She was going to get sucked in until she was so lost that she'd never be able to find her way back. She took a deep breath and said, "You were his father. And you loved him so much. Everything you did was for him. Your whole life was about him. And I'm sure he knew that."

"But what do I do now?"

He was pleading with her; begging her to give him something to live for, but Lynette couldn't bring herself to tell him what he wanted to hear. He had spent over six years living for someone else; it was time he figured out how to live for himself. It was time for him to figure out what he wanted. She couldn't ask him to be hers; not when he was this vulnerable; not when he finally had the chance to be free.

"You're going to keep going," she said softly, running her fingers through his hair. "You are going to get up every morning and get through the day and eventually it won't hurt quite so much. And life is going to go on, even if it feels like it shouldn't. And you will finally get to do exactly what you want to do."

Tom nodded sadly and laid his hand over her heart. Slowly, she mirrored the action, shutting her eyes as she did. There were a thousand things that would never be said in that moment, but somehow she was okay with it.

Life was going to go on.


	9. Pain of Cold November Days Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: ** Not mine, capiche?

**A/n: **Thank you to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. It really motivated me to push through and get to the end of this story. This is the second to last chapter, but the last one is already written. I just need to polish it up and then I'll post it.

Please and thank yous in advance to those of you who review this next chapter. I really, really appreciate it.

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Six: The Pain of Cold November Days**

**Chapter Three**

They spent a week together.

She cleaned up the apartment while he showered, inadvertently tripping over reminders of his loss as she went. Hospital bills mixed in with the mail and children's toys hidden in closets and pictures of happier moments. Every encounter was a hiccup that made her eyes fill with tears and the words _not fair_ pound again and again in her head. She hurt for him—for how each of these things would only wound him tenfold when he stumbled over them. He'd lost a part of himself and that pain would be eternal.

That first day they drank together while he told her stories she'd never heard about his son. Their lives had been separated up until that point. His world and hers. Then he let her in: from the wonderful moment Charlie was born to the terrifying realization that he was sick to the acceptance that he was never going to get better. They cried. And they drank.

The next day she went grocery shopping and bought him real food. Whatever exorbitant amount of food came with a loss had apparently been delegated to Annabel, and a perusal of Tom's refrigerator had proved to be fruitless. He was still in bed when she returned from the store, but when she brought breakfast into his room he was lying awake, staring blankly at the ceiling. She forced him to eat the pancakes and sausage she'd cooked, but the whole time he didn't say a word to her.

He didn't speak all day. He never got out of bed. She spent the day worrying.

The third day was a Monday. After breakfast, she crawled into bed with him and lay with her head on his chest watching old movies all day. Black and white classics with Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant—a marathon on the classic movie channel. She could hear his heartbeat as they watched: _alive, alive, alive_ it reminded her with every beat.

She forced him to take a bath on Tuesday, ignoring his stubborn refusals as she coerced him into the tub. She sat on the edge of the tub behind him, her feet on either side of him in the water, tenderly washing his hair and running her hands over his chest. "You have to take care of yourself," she told him sadly. "I'm worried about you."

"It's not your job to worry about me."

She leaned down and kissed his cheek, ignoring the beard that was beginning to grow after not shaving for over a week. "Yes it is."

Wednesday she stripped the bed while he was using the bathroom and started the laundry. He threw a fit when he realized she'd destroyed the one place he'd apparently chosen to spend the rest of his life, but finally settled into an uncomfortable sulk on the couch. She spent the day paying his bills and doing chores and cooking while he watched sports. Finally that evening, he reached out and pulled her onto the couch with him, whispering quiet apologies in her ear and kissing the back of her neck. She'd reluctantly, if smartly, stopped him before it went any further.

The next morning, she woke up tangled between the clean sheets and Tom's arms, surprised when she rolled over and found him awake. She'd been up before him every day since she'd arrived and as she looked into his tired eyes she wondered if he'd slept at all that night.

"You have to know," he said softly as he laced their hands together, "that I'm going to be okay."

"Are you?"

"I will be. I will be okay."

Then he got out of bed and took a shower of his own free will. And Lynette knew without him saying it that it was a dismissal. She got on the phone, booked a flight home for the next day, and spent the afternoon making him a series of meals that he could easily heat up in the oven.

Friday he drove her to the airport and they kissed goodbye.


	10. Just the Moments Between Hellos

**Disclaimer: **Well this still isn't mine. But I bet you all know that.

**A/n: **Final chapter. Thank you all so much for reading this and for your supportive comments throughout this story. I've never tried one like this before, so all the feedback really helped. I hope you all enjoy this last chapter too and please let me know what you think. Thanks. -Ryeloza

**One Thousand Paper Cranes**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Part Seven: Goodbyes Are Just the Moments between Hellos**

Déjà vu.

It was fall and the leaves lazily drifted to the ground whispering soft goodbyes to summer and life and warmth. She sat on an old worn barstool in a bar she hadn't entered in years, sipping a drink she'd never really liked, and waiting for something indefinable. The night was about the mystery of what was to come…

And then he appeared.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Yes, it was déjà vu all over again.

She smiled even though she had no good memories of that night eight years ago, but only glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Time had obviously healed at least some part of him. He looked better than he had two years ago—clean-shaven, loose, relaxed. But she already knew that if she looked into his eyes there would be just the slightest hollowness of loss; the sign of grief that no amount of time could ever fully heal. "What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

Tom made a low humming sound that put every nerve in her body on edge and brushed against her as he took the stool next to hers. "I'll have what she's having," he directed the bartender, and Lynette smirked. At least he remembered his lines.

They sat in an amicable silence until the bartender brought Tom his drink, and then after taking a tiny sip, he looked over at her, staring until she finally dared to meet his gaze. He did look better—so much better. There was some lightness, some confidence, about him that she hadn't seen since she'd first met him. Gently, he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, running his fingers down her neck and lightly squeezing her shoulder. He smiled. "You look beautiful."

"I'm meeting someone," she said. Then added, "Blind date."

"I figured, but…Well, this won't take long."

She nodded and glanced back to her glass. She was both flattered by his realization that she wasn't dolled up and hanging out in a bar for no reason and bothered that he didn't seem to care. How irrational it seemed after all this time that she still cared so much. She'd come to accept long ago that they would probably never be more than two people whose lives occasionally crossed. Those few freezing November days she'd spent in Chicago had been about comfort and friendship; she'd been there to hold him after the most unbearable of losses. When he let her go, she went without pain, not hurt or upset, because he'd lost everything and he had to figure out how to start over on his own. And maybe because she'd also left with some small hope—a hope of someday—but after a year went by with no word, she'd really thought that had been the end. He'd realized what he wanted and it wasn't her.

_I will be okay_, he'd said. Apparently he was. Not because of her, but maybe that wasn't a bad thing. She was still glad to see him; glad to see with her own eyes that he had healed.

_Life goes on…_

"I only have two things to say," continued Tom, unaware that seeing him forced her to replay those last few days together in her head. "I never thanked you for coming to see me after Charlie died."

Lynette squeezed her eyes shut for a second and shook her head, turning to face him. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"No, I do. Because for all those months after that when I was drinking too much and not caring about anything…when I was always on the verge of doing something horribly stupid, I thought of how you came to see me and I would think, 'She still cares.' That was the only thing…" He let out a shaky sigh. "That was the only thing that kept me going. And it finally came down to a choice—to move on or to give up, and I just kept thinking about the fact that you came. And I know that there's every chance in the world that it didn't mean as much to you as it did to me, but that doesn't matter because it saved me. You saved me."

"Tom…"

"It took me a really long time to pull my shit together, Lynette. I'm not going to lie. It was really, really hard."

Lynette brushed her fingers over her eyes, wiping away the tears before they could fall. "I'm glad that you're okay. I always wondered…"

"I know. And I should have come sooner or called or…something, but I was…" He shrugged and admitted, almost sheepishly, "…fragile. I was afraid that if you said no—which you have every right to—that it would just kill me. So I had to wait. I had to wait until I was strong enough."

Lynette shook her head, confused and hopeful and doubtful all at the same time. She wanted to freeze this moment and make it their last, just in case the next one ruined everything, but she forced herself to echo, "Said no?"

Tom reached out and took her hand in both of his, letting his thumb skip over her knuckles. "Lynette, I have been waiting to be with you from the first moment I saw you. I know we've been apart more than we've been together, but those few times we've had…We've seen the best of each other in our worst moments, and I have loved you through all of it. The timing has never been right; it may not be right now. But I will regret it for the rest of my life if I don't ask you to marry me."

"What?" she breathed, the word barely existing. She was shaking, terribly unsure that she'd actually heard him, even as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small jewelry box. As though he had planned this—as though they were a real couple as opposed to two people who had spent eight years loving one another in the brief moments they had between goodbyes.

"Lynette, you are the one person in the world that I want to spend the rest of my life with. Will you…" He trailed off and then seemed to realize that it was enough, looking at her with hope dancing behind the fear in his eyes. "Will you?"

Lynette shut her eyes against the spinning of the room, scarcely able to breathe. This was a moment she'd never had in even her wildest dreams because it was insane. Insane because they barely knew one another; insane because they hadn't spoken in two years; insane because she desperately wanted to say yes. "Are you crazy?" she asked. The words weren't harsh or accusing; simply an honest question.

"Probably."

Lynette laughed, but it came out on a sob. "So what are you saying?" she asked. "You're the love of my life and we're meant to be together and I'm just supposed to fall into your arms and marry you?"

"Yes," he agreed. He laid his hand on her cheek, briefly shutting his eyes when she leaned into his touch. "That is exactly what I'm saying." He paused for a second, but when she didn't immediately speak, he added, "Look, I know there are a million reasons for you to say no, but—"

"I have spent eight years loving you," she interrupted. "I thought that maybe—maybe—that you were going to tell me that you were moving back here…To ask me on a date…" She smiled, realizing as she said it how ridiculous it sounded. Maybe getting engaged was insane, but it was even more insane to pretend that their relationship, untraditional as it was, wasn't at a point far beyond getting to know one another.

"I am tired of waiting."

"Me too." She was tired of waiting; tired of thinking; tired of denying herself the one thing she truly wanted. She nodded slowly, a reluctant but unstoppable joy building in her heart for the first time in years. "Okay."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

Laughing and crying, Tom leaned forward and kissed her, his lips exploring hers as though it was the first time. And in a way, it was. The first time they weren't kissing goodbye. The first time their kiss spoke of hope instead of desperation.

"This was how we were always meant to be," he whispered.

She nodded. It was true.

They had just taken the longest road.

-_Fin-_


End file.
